


No Grave Can Hold My Body Down

by Flower_Flame_Princess



Series: Stucky Bingo 2020 [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Was Rescued Early, Frostbite, Hurt Steve Rogers, M/M, SHIELD, Steve Rogers Recovery, Steve Rogers Wakes Up Early, Stucky Bingo 2020, Valkyrie Crash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:20:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26815012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flower_Flame_Princess/pseuds/Flower_Flame_Princess
Summary: He wakes up in a plane, surrounded by ice.He can barely get out.It's so cold.|X|Stucky Bingo: Free Square
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Stucky Bingo 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1830520
Comments: 3
Kudos: 85
Collections: Stucky Bingo 2020





	No Grave Can Hold My Body Down

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what happened, but I think the story crashed and disappeared? Luckily, I had the whole thing in my documents, so no harm done!

_ "Eight o’clock on the dot. Don’t you dare be late. Understood?" _

"You know, I still don’t know how to dance."

_ "I’ll show you how. Just be there." _

"We’ll have the band play something slow. I’d hate to step on your–"

A crash interrupted his speech, the sound of it all louder than anything he had ever heard before. Louder than the explosions he had heard echoing around the battlefield. Louder than bullets that whizzed past his face, or tank missiles fired at his motorcycle. The nose of the plane was crumpled in an instant, the motor failing, catching fire even in the cold, and the equipment shut off. Peggy was cut off. White static replaced what had once been her sweet voice. Peggy was gone. She was gone.

His body jerked to the dashboard, his forehead colliding with the steering wheel. The windows shattered as the plane crashed halfway into the ice, sliding forward across the fragile, frozen surface for a moment before it broke underneath the plane’s weight. Because it had nothing left to lean on, the back dropped into the sea, water immediately beginning to seep in.

The plane moaned, almost as if it were in pain. The thicker ice that had been supporting its side broke too, and the plane fell back with a heavy, jerking motion, sinking deeper into the water. Water gushed inside through the broken windows and holes in the walls of the plane.

He should have paid attention to that, should have at least noticed it. But the pain was all that occupied his thoughts at the moment. 

His bones and muscles and joints and organs felt like they were being crumbled and smashed into a tiny box. His lungs contracted with such force that he was afraid they would fold into themselves. His torso and head had smashed up against the steering wheel in front of him, colliding harshly with the firm material. His arms and legs had been flailing, searching for somewhere to hold on to and stop the forward movement his body was going.

The pit-feeling in his stomach from the falling plane was gone, the plane was barely moving now. Not that that felt any better. It truly was not any better. If anything, it felt terrifying, the horror rushing through his body faster than fire, grasping at anything it could find. Everything that had happened in the past hour was a blur, and some of the things seemed to be erased from his memory. What did he remember?

Inside the Valkyrie there had been multiple fighter planes with their targets written on them: Boston, Chicago, New York. Steve had managed to disable the fighter planes and their pilots after much struggle, but he had done it. He remembered entering the cockpit where Schmidt was waiting.

He remembered flinging his shield at Schmidt, who had then been thrown back into the cubic console. Before his eyes, he saw Schmidt had picked up the cube, and energy started to pour from it, revealing a window into space. Thousands of stars had blinked down upon him, a galaxy of planets and ways that Steve had never seen before. A stream of blue energy engulfed Schmidt and took him into the sky. The cube had fallen to the ground, and burned through the metal with ease, until it eventually tumbled into the sea below.

Steve remembered taking over the plane’s controls, pushing buttons and gripping the steering wheel. On a screen he read that the target was New York City, and he tried the radio, hoping it still worked. Luckily, it did. His signal was picked up by the HYDRA control tower that had been occupied by Peggy and Phillips. Peggy told him to give his coordinates, to wait just a little longer; they could figure something out. But Steve knew there was no time, he had to put the plane into the water.

The world must have kept flickering its figurative light switch because his vision kept flashing from bitter darkness to blinding white light. The only sound that filled his ears was the crushing of glass mixed with the distinct crackles of the ice. He had taken bad hits before, but this was by far one of the worst.

It did not just hurt, it felt so horribly numbing at the same time. He was slumped against the steering wheel, eyes blinking slowly, his head bleeding and a sudden tiredness taking over. The flashes turned dark; the last bit of light disappearing as the plane sunk even deeper. They didn’t flick back on, there was only darkness left. Snow blew outside, sticking to the windows and darkening all that there was. A blanket of coldness, around the plane and around his heart.

He was still alive. The plane had crashed but he was still alive. That thought didn’t make Steve feel relieved or happy though. He was wet and cold and isolated on a field of ice, in a plane that was still sinking, knowing fully well how nobody would get to him in time.

But he had done his job.

_ There are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them. That’s what you don’t understand. This isn’t about me. _

With much pain and labored movements, he managed to push himself away from the steering wheel, falling from the pilot seat to the ground with a dull  _ thump _ , and a pain-filled grunt. He had no idea if his bones were broken, by now he felt so numb and he felt like his head was going to explode. With much effort, he rolled onto his back and just stayed there, feeling the plane sink deeper underneath him. He shivered, the cold creeping over him and ice water soaking his clothes. He was going to freeze to death.

The plane made a heavy, jerking motion and they sunk deeper. More water gushed in and covered the floor. With his cold he doubted he would drown before he would freeze to death. Was this really how Captain America was going to end? Was this really how he was going to end the journey of life? It seemed pointless, but also oddly calming at the same time. 

He was done, he had done his job. He had saved people. He had saved his country.

And that was the reason why he was created, wasn’t it?

_ You’re an experiment. You’re going to Alamogordo. _

_ But sir, the serum worked. _

_ I asked for an army and all I got was you. You are not enough. _

He closed his eyes, wondering if anyone would ever find his body. And if they did, would they bring it back to be buried with his mom and dad, since Bucky was never buried? But either way, they would have service for him, and that would be nice. The priest would say the words and he would be at rest. After years of running at full speed, barely seeing where he was going but always continuing because he knew it was right, he could finally rest.

He felt bad though, for leaving his men, and he regretted everything he had never told Peggy, and that he wouldn’t be there for her now. He wouldn’t get that dance after all. He could try to keep hope, to have faith that maybe he would reunite with his girl, but he doubted that too. He was too far away, the plane was broken, he was sinking into the ice, water was flowing inside, and he already felt himself slipping away.

The thing he was satisfied about, was what he had achieved. He thought it would be right to be proud of himself. The last few years, he had fought day after day, week after week, month after month. And now he was done. The war was over. The last few HYDRA cells were being wiped off the map, but their leader was gone, their power source was gone, their largest base was gone. They were done for it.

They had wanted to keep him in a lab, or on the stage. Make him a chorus girl… well, he was even less loved than a chorus girl. 

_ You know for the longest time I dreamed about coming overseas and being on the front lines. Serving my country. I finally got everything I wanted, and I’m wearing tights. _

He had been surrounded by so many people, yet he felt so alone. Now he really was all alone, slowly slipping in and out of consciousness in the cold.

There was so much pain too; the more the adrenaline faded the more pain tickled through. Blood seeping through the open wounds and his whole body felt bruised. His healing was fast, but not this fast. He could barely move, he was tired, he couldn’t think. He could only let himself rest and relax, waiting for the inevitable.

He was going to miss them, he was going to miss Peggy and his men. He was going to miss Howard Stark. He had never really done the things he wanted. He missed out on so many things, didn’t have the chance to do anything. But he had a good reason, he was saving the world. With Peggy. God, if only he had taken that dance.

There was an annoying stinging behind his eyes, and something hot slipped down his temples. He could feel his nose become stuffy and his bottom lip quivered slightly. The right moment would never come again. It was gone,  _ poof _ , in the wind. The moment of his dance was never going to come again, he had blown that chance. He could not be selfish, he had sacrificed himself for his country, for the world, wasn’t that what the thousands of soldiers had done before him? 

_ But _ , he thought, trying to blink the tears away and feeling the water level rise to kiss the side of his head coldly.  _ At least he did his part, right? _

He got the job done, and that was what mattered.

If he died alone, bleeding out and freezing, that was all Bucky got too.

So that was alright.

ﾟ ☆ ﾟ + ｡ ★ ｡ + ﾟ ☆ ﾟ

A gasp escaped his lips, chilly air sucked in through his mouth, freezing his vulnerable lungs from the inside. They contracted, trying to get the cold air out, too much of a shock for him. His throat closed up, eyes watering, he opened his mouth and coughed harshly, his whole body shaking with the movements, and something splintered, something cracked, something broke and he could barely move, but he  _ needed  _ to move,  _ why couldn’t he move?! _

The cold sat deeper than his skin; it sat embedded deep in his bones, like he would never get warm again, and another harsh shiver wracked through his body. The more he moved, the more shivers wrecked through him. The more he fought to get free, the colder he got. His legs were numb. Completely numb, and most of his arms were as well. He could not even feel his own heart beating in his chest, even though he was beyond terrified. It should be pounding in his throat, racing like a last-pulled sprint, knocking at his ribcage, but he felt nothing. And he could barely breathe. 

The fabric that was supposed to be his defense against the cold did nothing, as it had snuck in beneath his suit and covered every inch of his body. It crawled across his skin when something splintered, exposed to more cold air, and his chest contracted painfully. Was his heart even beating? He did not know. Perhaps he was dead just now, his heart giving out, but his mind had not accepted that outcome just yet, and he had woken up. Only his heart had not gotten the message, and refused to work. 

Placing his numb, tingling and prickling hands on his chest, he pushed a few times to where he remembered his heart to be. It was strange, not feeling it beat, and he pushed and pushed and pushed. Then he formed a fist of both hands, slamming it down on himself and he gasped again. Something small and insignificant trembling and quivering. His heart was still beating, just very slowly. 

He looked around, darkness meeting his eyes but there was a little bit of light filtering through. His eyes scanned the darkness, and slowly adjusted themselves. He could see some vague outlines, but not much more. He felt around with his hands, more cold meeting his fingers, and he knew he was frozen. There was ice. He kicked up his legs, thrashing his body both to free himself and to get a little warmer. He was so cold. 

Getting up to his feet was a near impossible task, and he was forced to crawl around, looking for something but he was not sure what. He stopped when he saw something familiar, a puff of cold breath leaving his mouth in an emotion that resembled relief, but could barely be called anything as he was too cold to feel. It was his shield. 

Sitting on his knees, he curled his fingers into fists, and pounded on the ice, digging around with frozen stakes of bones and flesh that could barely be called ‘body parts’ anymore. His fingers were completely numb now, and he feared they would break off. After what seemed to be an eternity, he finally got his shield out. 

Then he sat there, for who knew how long, just staring into the darkness with nothing but empty chills and wracks of shivers going through him. He could not think, he could not see, his head pounded and he slowly lost sense in his body parts. He knew he had to keep going, to fight, to  _ live _ , but he was tired. He was so tired. The thought of Peggy made a candle flame bloom in his chest, something the cold hands of ice and snow could not throttle and choke, but it was not enough. He tried to cherish it, to hold it, to use it as energy, but even the thought of his dance, of his friends, was not enough for him to stand up. 

He crawled again, the shield strapped to his back where it belonged. The plane had been crumpled, the radios broken beyond repair, so he knew better than to crawl at the front again, to the seat, and check if something could be done. He was not a mechanic, he was not that smart, and he could not see. Trying to fix it would be pointless. He needed a way out. Out of this plane. Out of this wracked chunk of metal. 

There was some light coming from the end of the plane, somewhere by the large wings, and he decided to go there. Leaning onto the wall for support, he managed to get up to his feet, worrying at the sheer nothing he felt when touching the metal wall, which should feel like ice fire to his hands. He felt nothing. Just cold.

Every piece of the plane was covered in ice and snow, as though a storm had blown inside. The silence was eerie, and he only then realized that he heard nothing. Nothing but his own breathing and his own footsteps, echoing around the metal contraption. They were like gunshots to his ears, and he flinched when he hit something with a loud  _ drum _ . The bombs, meant to destroy entire cities, were frozen over and covered in snow, lying everywhere but where they were supposed to be, out of service and unusable. 

Something felt wrong, just by looking at it. There were some traces of melted metal and wood, only there was not the faintest scent of smoke, and the metal, that turned so hot when in contact with fire, looked long frozen. 

How long had it been?

The end drew nearer, light filtering in from the cracks. The ramp was opened ajar, just enough that Steve could see the world of white behind it. He placed his hands against the metal, and pushed. At first, nothing happened. It stayed firm, unmoving. He pushed harder, the metal groaning as though in pain, awakening after a long slumber, and it gave in. He pushed it forward enough to create a crack he could climb through, broad shoulders and shield included, and he was out. 

Indeed it was a world of white. Stretched-out plains of snow met his eyes, and he slumped a little. The sun was dipping into the horizon, the light of day slowly fading, and he knew he did not have long before nightfall. There was an icy wind, cutting his clothes and face when he stepped away from the plane, his mind whirling with questions and wonderings. Should he leave, or stay with the plane? At least he had cover here, and perhaps a rescue mission would come soon. They would find the plane easily, and thus Steve. But it could take long, and what if Steve had frozen to death or starved by then? 

The frigid air forced him to move, to stay a little warm at least. Without the support of the walls, no matter how cold they were, walking became a lot harder, and he stumbled and tripped. His face planted into the snow, an unwelcome cold that he was beginning to hate rushing through his uncovered skin. He would have said he hated it with a burning passion, were it not that the cold was like venom in his veins, not to escape from.

When he came up again, he wrapped his arms around his body, rubbing his arms with his unfeeling fingers, and he tried to breathe through his nose, keeping at least some of the cold from going straight to his lungs. 

Would there be any town close by? Any form of civilization? And, more importantly, would he be able to reach it before he froze to death? Steve had never been a quitter, and he understood that staying with the plane was not going to help him. It provided no warmth, no food, no water, nothing. So he walked. It did provide shelter, he realized, but what good would shelter do when he slowly starved and froze? His body, enhanced as it was, would grant him some warmth as long as he kept moving. It would take longer for him to die. He had to use that time.

As he walked, his hope shattered anyway, like it had not even mattered in the first place. There was nothing to guide him, not a rock, not a tree, not a mountain. There was nothing to even show him the way back to the plane if he wanted to go back. Because of that, he kept walking in a straight line. If something happened, or he made up his mind about finding a town, he could always turn around and find his way back, if he just kept walking in the same direction. He had tried his com-link, but nothing reacted. It was broken, frozen and destroyed. 

Though his legs kept moving, they had lost all sense, and in a way that scared him. If he lost all sense, his heart would stop beating again, and he would be done. Nothing would be able to save him, and the fact that he was shivering like a leaf in the wind only gave him the sour comfort that he was not yet suffering from severe hypothermia. The place around him was so hauntingly beautiful, but it was unforgiving and cruel as well. He did not know how long he had before he would sink away into a warm darkness.

His foot slipped; a chunk of ice was hidden beneath the snow, and he had set his foot right onto it unknowingly, and before he could even apprehend what was happening he was rolling down a gentle-sloping hill of whose existence he had not even been aware. He rolled, coating himself with ever more snow before he came to a slipping halt at the bottom, sliding a little on a frozen pond of ice. 

"Typical," he whispered, to no one but himself, once he lay still. 

Could he not just stay here? The ice was unforgiving cold under his cheek, but his legs refused to take any commands, and his arms were rioting against his will as well. The connections with his brain were lost, frozen over and scattered into a thousand pieces with a giant sledgehammer. He could only lie there, and work the muscles of his upper legs and biceps enough to roll onto his side, and curl into himself. 

_ Stay down _ , said a harsh snap in his head, laughter of boys on the schoolyard like nails on a chalkboard following soon. They spat at him, swore at him and his mother.  _ Don’t even think about getting up _ . 

The sun set behind the horizon, the good yellow ball of light and warmth disappearing, leaving only a few streaks of dancing colors across the horizon, but it was not enough. It was getting dark. He curled up even tighter, pulling his legs up to himself, they felt like two lifeless stakes of flesh and bone. He wrapped his numbed arms around himself, forming his own body into a tiny little ball. A ball of misery and shivering. 

_ Why don’t you just give up? _ The voice said, and a sharp pain lanced through his side, at the height of his ribs. It was almost as though he was curled up on the warm stones of the garbage-filled alleyway, the stink of rotten food filling his nose, a bully twice his size stomping down on him with his foot. He tried to push away the bully, but to keep the warm stones at the same time. It had been a warm day. He missed that warmth.

_ Stay down, I won’t tell you again _ . He gasped for breath, the air forced out of his lungs by a kick to his stomach and tears welled up in his eyes. Why was this happening, why was this happening,  _ how  _ was this happening… He was so c-cold, he could not move, he was tired, he just wanted to sleep- why could he not sleep? 

"I–" Steve’s teeth chattered, the breaths in his mouth and throat too cold, his lungs shrinking in his chest, too little air, too little warmth, "I-I can d-do this-s… a-all d-day."

He lay his head back down on the floor of ice and snow, and after what felt like many hours of pain, he finally stopped shivering.

ﾟ ☆ ﾟ + ｡ ★ ｡ + ﾟ ☆ ﾟ

A white light filtered through the lids of his eyes, which were barely opened. He blinked lowly, a deep blue flashing behind his eyelids, glowing and fading. A person was talking in the background, soft noises like a murmur to his ears, interrupting, buzzing like a bee in a constant motion, but Steve was not paying full attention.

He was not cold anymore.

Full wakefulness came slowly, working through his body at its own, leisurely pace, starting with the curl of his toes and the stretch of his ankles, then through the arch of his back, releasing sleep-heavy tension with barely a shift of his being. Something must have had him in its strong and deep grasp, clinging onto him tightly and dragging him down to unknown depths, because he could not remember having ever slept this deeply.

Opening his eyes a little more, fluttering lowly, he was met with a white ceiling, the contours of the room he was in slowly coming into focus. He was lying on a white bed, in a mostly white room that he was not familiar with. His eyes closed again, too heavy to stay fully awake. He wanted to go back to sleep, to that warmth he had been feeling. It would not come anymore, though, and all he felt was a hand, not his own. The backs of fingers trailing down the side of his face in a motion that was horribly familiar. 

As he moved, just a little, he became aware of just how much his head was stuffed with cotton, clogging his mind like long hair did a drain and keeping his thoughts from seeping through. Parts of his body felt numb, tingling just slightly, yet he was fully rested somehow. He blinked a few times, confused, remembering his sudden sweep forward where his head had collided with the steering wheel of the…

Plane.

Was he dead?

_ "Easy, sweetheart," _ a voice murmured, sounding so far away,  _ "You’re alright. You’re back." _

Back? Back  _ where? _

Again, Steve tried to pry his eyes open, managing to turn his head just enough that he could see the person next to him. It was a man, sitting on a chair next to the bed, around the height of his head. The man had his hand reached out, fingers still carding so gently through Steve’s hair, sliding down the side of his face, only to come back up again and repeat the gesture. 

Eyelids fluttering, Steve thought he saw a familiar face. Brown hair, longer than he remembered. It had been long, had it not? He remembered those eyes. The features of the face were more prominent, sharper. Almost on edge, as if he had trained hard and ate little. They were not soft, like he remembered, but those  _ eyes _ … He remembered those eyes. So beautifully blue. He knew those. They belonged to his friend. His best friend. His love. 

"Bucky?" he whispered, his voice barely more than a slight noise. 

"Yeah, honey," the man answered, "It’s me, Stevie. I’m here."

Steve turned his head back on the pillow. That was good. If Bucky was here, everything would be alright. It always was. 


End file.
